


On the Other Side of Paradise

by xxSoliusxx



Series: A Guide to Solius's 035 & 049 Canon! [1]
Category: SCP Foundation
Genre: 035 is the black lord of alagadda, 049s name is florice, 14th century england, Alagadda, Black Plague, M/M, Midnight Parade based, Other, Pre Foundation, first meeting on earth, genderfluid 035, mostly wrote it for myself, not very shippy, this is more of a setup and backstory thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:27:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24516133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxSoliusxx/pseuds/xxSoliusxx
Summary: The Black Lord steals the Doctor's ticket out of Alagadda.
Relationships: SCP-035/SCP-049 (SCP Foundation)
Series: A Guide to Solius's 035 & 049 Canon! [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1769230
Comments: 17
Kudos: 72





	1. Chapter 1

The doctor stood silently at the balcony rail. His clawed fingers dully tapped the ornate patterned railing as he eyed the city splayed out before him in a sprawling map of near–endless wonder. The night air was crisp and a slight breeze ruffled through his feathers as the blinding moon hung in a starless sky.

A faint thrum rose from the heart of the city and a celebration of music rippled through the air, drifting across the land and smothering the city in a musical blanket. 

The Midnight Parade had begun. 

With narrow, yellow eyes, the doctor observed the Parade’s head emerge from between the buildings.

Led by the Ambassador, a wild assortment of flashy Alagaddan citizens followed suit with bubbling laughter and a musical entourage as they faithfully streamed behind their leader. Fellow Alagaddan people peeked from home windows and street corners to peer curiously at the disturbance. Most leapt from their places and were swept away into the Parade. Porcelain masks, flashing jewelry and ornately patterned fabrics turned the streets into a tide of glittering colors–red, yellow, white and black. A sweet melodious harmony echoed from the instruments clutched in the fingers of the people, notes ringing throughout the night sky, extending even to the furthest reaches of the grand city. 

As exciting as the whole ordeal seemed, the doctor held little desire to join the cacophony raging in the streets. The freezing edge of his porcelain bird-like mask settled into the palm of his gloved hand as he leaned against the railing observing the Ambassador turn to lead the tide of joyful citizens down another street. 

The only reason the doctor had come to Alagadda was to study its people and search for a cure. 

The doctor had spent so much of his life in this city of elegant beauty and unearthly horror he’d nearly forgotten his roots. 

His name was Florice. Back in _his_ world, he was from a tiny, northern town in France. In the year 1348, the Black Plague swept through his town leaving little survivors in its wake. One of its victims had been Florice’s younger brother. Grief stricken by the loss of his last remaining family member, Florice set out to become a doctor, hoping to help others afflicted with the sickness and to find a cure for the disease. But the disease was literal death and death had no cure. 

Florice set out from France, traveling across the continent of Europe, finding like-minded people along his way who were more than willing to teach him the ways of medicine. During his travels, he stumbled upon several individuals with...peculiar natures. Witches with true power, other plague doctors with odd healing abilities…

Anomalies roamed the land even now, in this time. 

It was through his peculiar acquaintances that Florice learned of a distant land quietly referred to as Alagadda. This ‘Alagadda’ was rumored to be the land of carnival and joyous people with flashy masks and clothes more expensive than any could dream of. The citizens were immortal, forever partaking in celebration and carnival festivities across the land, living forever as free individuals under their King. 

Hearing the whispers of immortality, Florice came to the conclusion that perhaps he could find a cure for the Plague in this other land, this, “Alagadda.” Or perhaps he could discover other sciences there or something more straightforward like the ability to raise the sick from death. 

He met a particularly older witch in the shadows of a shady tavern in southern France. She told him of the entrance to this wonderful land of Alagadda–a gateway known as the Janus Door residing on a peak in the rolling hills of England. The key to this door was located somewhere in a Roman temple–A temple paying homage to Janus. So, Florice thanked her for the information, dropped a few gold pieces on the table and left to begin his long trek down to Italy. 

After two years, Florice obtained the Janus key and made the journey back north, crossing the English Channel by ship and hiking the rolling English hills. He discovered a lone shining door standing freely at the peak of a particularly steep hill. 

Using the Janus key, Florice stepped through the gate only to be swept away into Alagadda with a new face and black robes adorned with gold edging and a startling number of golden crosses hanging from his neck. None could be removed. 

Quickly, the doctor moved through the streets of the alien city which pierced the planes of logic and stretched through every dimension plane, up and down. He stopped a few citizens of unearthly beauty to inquire as to where one could find research or information pertaining to this place. 

Directed to the Library, Florice entered the fantastical building which twisted every which way, staircases criss-crossing each direction imaginable in the confines of the building. Bookshelves lined the walls and ceiling, jars of unknown substance and papers rested innocently on shelves. The lower and higher floors offered an even larger trove of information, the entire place one large infinite hoard of knowledge. 

So Florice had set to work, lifting his leather bound journal from his doctor’s bag and pulling items from shelves, settling into the desk located in the Library’s main foyer. If he was going to find a cure anywhere, he was certain it would be discovered here. 

Time in Alagadda flowed quite differently than Earth. Florice remained in Alagadda for what felt like months stretched into years that he spent scribbling away in his journal. He seldom left the Library but when he did, he used his time outside wisely, studying the citizens of Alagadda and the city’s structure. To the people, he became known as the Librarian and citizens who sought the library often gravitated towards him for their needs. 

The city...the titles...the overwhelming infrastructure... it took everything in Florice’s willpower to not be driven mad by the grandeur of it all. 

The one subject of the city which he never had the chance to thoroughly study were the rulers. He was forced to observe the Alagadda hierarchy from a safe distance. 

The Hanged King was a shadowed subject. He sat up on his throne in the Court, his power bound by the constraints of chains and rope around his neck, containing a god shaped hole. 

The Ambassador was the next figure of importance. They acted as the ambassador for the Hanged King, supposedly carrying out his every whim and wish. The Ambassador ruled Alagadda in place of the Hanged king and possessed the power of the people and a disturbing ability to tear one's mind apart. 

The Hanged King’s children were next. Four Lords–Red, Yellow, White and Black respectively. Each possessed power to govern over the citizens, ruling the people fair and equal among themselves. However, tension was rising between the Black Lord and the Ambassador. Political discourse had begun between the siblings. 

This was little cause for concern among the citizens. After all, their sole loyalties lay with the Hanged King, their undying devotion leading them only to obey the other political figures on the King’s behalf. 

Florice never had the fortune to cross paths with any of these figures which was for the best since he was purposefully laying low to steer clear of any trouble. He wasn’t certain how Alagadda would treat him if he was found to be an outsider and he certainly didn’t want to find out. 

However, he did have the misfortune to stumble in on the Black Lord once. Or rather, the Black Lord had stumbled in on _him._

They’d come to his library looking for him–the Librarian. The Black Lord was clad in a mixture of grey and black clothes, a jester hat acting as a crown and feathers jutting from their heeled boots. Their expression was stark white and filled with Anguish. It was an unpleasant meeting as the Black Lord was mighty interested in the possibility of the Janus Key being in Florice’s possession. They knew he was an outsider as they tried to sway Florice into giving up the key. 

Florice betrayed nothing and so the Black Lord left. 

It was a certainly terrifying experience the doctor wished to forget. 

So here the doctor was, swaying on this balcony observing the Midnight Parade from afar not a few months later.

As Florice idly viewed the clamor of the Parade disappear between two buildings, a sudden clatter and a tide of rapid footfalls echoed up the luminous yellow hallway from the library behind him. Alarmed, the doctor spun around on a heel and hastily strode to the doorway, peering down the hallway. A flash of shadowed black and the smattering of footsteps against the polished floor disappeared around the corner. 

_What the–?_

Currently, all clocks were positioned at midnight and visitors seldom appeared after dark. Besides, the masses were out on the streets parading with the Ambassador. 

But nevermind the time oddities. Whoever this person was, they were already peculiar since no citizens carried the appearance of a smoky shadow. Nor did visitors usually take off running rampant through the library. In a fit of curiosity, Florice left the balcony and raced down the hall, his single set of footsteps echoing off the vast golden walls. 

He burst out onto the second floor and leaned over the railing to stare upwards at the main foyer of the library. Fleeing up two different adjacent staircases were two shadowy figures wrapped in smoke, their footsteps leaving a trail of smoking black substance along the red-carpeted stairs.

Several questions arose in the doctor’s mind as he squinted at the shadowy intruders figures fleeing towards the double-door exit at the opposite end of the foyer. The ghostly trails of a third figure had already leapt out the door.

_Who...? Why...?_

In quick time, Florice grabbed the nearest staircase railing and flew up the red velvet steps until he reached the bottom floor of the library hub. He was just in time to catch sight of the tag end of the two smoky figures dashing through the doors. One figure cast a fleeting backwards glance to observe the doctor behind them with a wide grin and an odd sense of familiarity before they were gone, disappearing into the starless night. 

Florice dashed across the hub to the doorway, pausing as he lay a clawed hand on the doorframe. He peered out into the dark night catching no traces of the intruders. 

The fleeting memory of the figure’s face burned into the doctor’s mind...who…?

The wide grin...the black smoke…

Worry pricked the edges of Florice’s mind as he pieced together the mystery. Those had been servants of the Black Lord, he was certain of it.

But why were they here? What did the Black Lord need from the Library? What did they want–

_The key._

Oh the doctor had been a fool! Of course the Black Lord would come for the key! Tonight was the perfect night for a robbery with the Midnight Parade flooding the streets in an awful clamor. 

Dread filled the doctor’s mind. Without the key, he had no way back home. His stomach dropped. 

_No no no no no no–_

Desperation stabbed at Florice’s heart as he whirled around and flew across the polished floor to the desk at the opposite end of the foyer. He kept the key neatly tucked away in the pages of his journal–there was no way the servants had found his book–

“No. No. No,” Florice muttered, feathers ruffling as icy fear clutched his heart.

_His book._

His book was lying strewn open on the desk, pages flipped to 253 and 254, the precise placement of his key. 

Between the pages was unusually empty. 

“NO!” 

Claws sank into the soft painted wood of the desk. A mixture of heated fury and stone cold dread clouded the doctor’s mind.

The Black Lord had stolen his key. 

That bastard.

In a flurry of feathers the doctor spun on a heel, mind racing in a feverish manner. His heart hammered loudly against his ribs. He had to get out of here, he had to get out of this city. 

There was one possibility...one slim possibility that the doctor could return to Earth. If the Black Lord was careless enough to forget the door behind them…

_This is my only chance to return home. If the door isn’t open, I’ll be stuck in this damned city of hell forever._

Florice shook his head, shoving away the fear clutching his mind. He had to act fast if he was going to catch that chance. 

In a flurry of hasty feathers, he snatched his doctor's bag from behind the desk and flipped his journal shut. He stuffed the book into the depths of his bag before slinging the black leather strap over his shoulder and whirling around to face the open Library exit. He promptly dashed for the doors already flung open by his prior uninvited guests. 

The sharp hasty clicking of boots on tile fell silent in the arched doorway. Florice paused for a fleeting moment to cast one final glance back into the depths of the Library–beholding the grandeur of its twisting walls and shelves one last time before turning tail and dashing into the night. 

The doctor darted through the streets, the faint thrum of the Midnight Parade abroad in the distance, blanketing the opposite side of the city. His steps guided him through various alleyways, dodging past masked figures in the shadows and under flickering white lamplights. 

As the doctor hurried through the crisp night air, he followed the clear pathway engraved in his memory of the route which would guide him back to the Janus Door and his home. He passed under black lamplights, the dark light illuminating the glittering accents of gold emblazoned on his irremovable robes. Rounding the corner with an unbalanced wobble, Florice continued his zig-zag through the streets. Left. Down. Up. Left. Right. Down. Left-Down…

The buildings here seemed to loom under the doctor, appearing startlingly familiar as the memories of first setting foot into Alagadda flooded Florice’s head. He whirled to take a final left, half skidding down the cobblestones lining the street. Rounding the corner he stumbled to a halt, clutching the strap of his bag as he stared up into the bleak dead end of the city streets. 

Here in the darkened alley lay a magnificent black oaken door, emblazoned with golden hinges and coated in a hazy veil of red. A stark white symbol marking the Janus Gate lay just above the silver handle. 

The door creaked on it’s hinges, a draft drifting through the gateway cracked ajar by mere inches. Florice hurried up to the doorway, stopping short at the step up. Relief flooded his body from head to toe. He let out a shaky breath as a familiar object caught his eye. He bounded up the steps leading to the portal between worlds. Sticking out of the diamond shaped lock was the uniquely engraved head of his Janus Key. The doctor let out a heavy relieved sigh, fears forgotten as he pinched the key between his clawed fingertips and wrenched it from the lock. 

Slipping the key into his doctor’s bag, he turned his attention back to the door and straightened up, puffing out his chest as he observed the ajar entryway. He frowned, eyes narrowing in careful thought as he eyed the portal.

He couldn’t risk losing his key again. Besides, he had everything from Alagadda he came for, all the crucial information he gathered was contained within the scribbled notes of his leather bound journal. Perhaps it was time to return home and put those scribbles to use saving the thousands of innocent people on Earth from the Plague. 

With an air of confidence and one gloved hand, Florice reached up, pressing his palm against the black wood. He pushed open the gateway, hinges creaking as a cold draft drifted up from the contents of the door. Florice warily peered into the yawning void beyond the door before reaching out and placing his palms on the edges of the doorway. His fingers slipped into the smudge of black substance oddly splashed across the doorframe as he grasped the edges of the wood to hoist himself through the gateway.

With little resolve, the doctor quietly stepped his booted heel over the frame and into the void beyond. His consciousness ebbed away as he fell from the splendid carnivals and joyous tunes of the city under a starless sky. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to finish up some other fic plots before i continued writing. There will be updates 1-3 times a week from now on depending on my levels of motivation and time.

The opposite side of the gate wasn’t nearly as pleasant. Florice’s vision suddenly tunneled green and blue in a horrible whirling blur. He let out a strangled yell as gravity took hold and he tumbled uncontrollably down the grassy hillside. Rocks sticking out from the dirt bruised his sides as he barreled over them on his unruly path down the hill. With gloved hands, Florice made a futile attempt to grasp at the tall hillside grass but the blades slipped through his fingers. 

He tumbled over with a final lurch and his blurry surroundings swam before his eyes as he came to rest at the bottom of the hill, battered and bruised.

_ Ow.  _

A painful throbbing pierced the doctor’s thoughts and a high pitched ringing split his ears, tears pricking the corners of his vision.The only registering signs of life were the slight twitch of his fingers and the heavy rise and fall of his chest. For a moment he lay in the dewy grass, thoroughly stunned as he gazed sightlessly at the shockingly blue sky. 

He squinted.

The blue was nice. He was overcome with a fit of reminiscence as he gazed at the vibrant colors of home. After living in red, white, yellow and black for what felt like dozens of years, he was greatly thankful for the palette change. 

The aching pain of his bruised body suddenly caught up to him coaxing an agonized groan from his lips. With stiff limbs, he struggled, slowly righting himself as the world tilted into focus. The painful ringing in his ears subsided, his throbbing headache gradually fading into a faint thrum. He lifted his palms from the grass and raised them into view, experimentally flexing his fingers.

_ No talons. My claws are gone…OH!  _

Florice gasped, scrambling upright onto his booted feet as he hastily dusted off his clothes, peering in awe at the plain attire hanging off his body. Dark gray hood and even darker robes. Black gloves and booted heels. No long dress skirt or crosses dangling off the neck. 

_ My face… _

Florice’s hands flew to his face only to be blocked by a bulky, leathery obstruction. Ice cold fear jetted through his veins and he gasped, fingers scrabbling at the mask affixed to his features. 

_ No no...the mask should be gone– _

The doctor suddenly relaxed as his gloved fingertips outlined the bulky stitches threaded into the mask. This wasn’t the Alagadda amalgamation, it was  _ his  _ mask, the simple grey one he’d adorned prior to stepping through the portal. His prying hands quickly found the silver buckles buried back within the tangled mess of unkempt black hair. After several clicks the mask loosened and fell away, clutched in his hands. Florice gasped, sweat dripping from his brow as he sucked in a breath of the fresh hillside air. 

Wonderfully sharp, cool and familiarly earthy. Nothing like the heavy, lusty tones of Alagadda. 

His mask fell from his hands and bounced among the hillside grass as he hastily pressed the tips of his fingers into the ghostly pale skin of his cheeks. 

There it was. The blood, the flesh. No more dainty porcelain decorations. 

A rare grin cracked across the doctor’s expression as his fingernails dug crescents into the high of his cheekbones. He whirled around on a heel, shielding his eyes as he took in the grand sight of his hilly surroundings with an audible sigh. 

He was home.

For a moment, Florice swayed in the chilly breeze filtering through the hillside. The wind brushed against his pale complexion and tousled his hair. Orienting himself, he realized he was at the bottom of a gutter in a small valley. The sky was a lovely blue, decorated with an assortment of wispy clouds. The morning sun barely hovered over the eastern horizon, slowly but surely climbing higher in the sky. To the north and west stretched a further spanse of rolling hills. To the best of Florice’s memory, South was where the shore lay. 

Right. The shore. The shore was important. 

Why?

Florice blinked as he struggled to recall the shore’s importance. His headache throbbed on cue. He rubbed his temple in frustration hoping to spring his memory. He needed the shore...Why did he need the shore? He needed the shore because….he needed...

Right!

He needed the shore in order to board a ship to reach the mainland and begin his journey across the land to assist and save people suffering from the Plague. Yes, that had always been the plan from the beginning even before Alagadda. Saving people. 

Reaching back into his memories of Alagadda, Florice was fairly sure he’d discovered the cure during his time there but…

He pressed a set of fingers into his temple, eyes squeezing shut as a deafening thrum pounded his head. He hissed through gritted teeth, shaking his head in pain as his trove of Alagaddan memories swam just beyond the reaches of his mind. They were swathed in a brilliant golden haze, dreamy and tripping up his conscious. He couldn’t quite grasp the details of his stay–where was the library located in the city? Was it four lords or three? Had his attire been white or black? How exactly did the procedure for his ‘cure’ function?

Uneasiness shot through the doctor’s head and he covered his mouth in horror.  _ He couldn’t remember the procedure.  _

His eyes shot open and a brief wave of panic crashed over his head before he remembered the bag hanging off his shoulder. Right. His journal–he’d kept the details and his study regarding the cure scribbled in his journal. Blinking back the pain of his splitting headache, Florice unwound the drawstring and hastily rummaged around the seemingly endless bottom before his fingers curled around the hard surface of his journal. 

He gingerly drew the book from the depths of his bag and stared at the brown leather in his hand. The familiar object was quite comforting. 

All seemed well at the moment. His journal remained in his possession. Everything was in order aside from the hazy memories and unfortunate headache. The doctor exhaled a relieved puff of air. Dropping the journal back into the depths of his bag, Florice then stooped to snatch his grey mask from the tall grasses. He squinted at its beaky features, unfortunately similar to the porcelain bird mask that’d been glued to his face in Alagadda. Quickly, he slipped the bulky object into his bag, winding up the string to close. 

He readjusted the strap digging into his shoulder and brushed off specks of dirt from his robes, shaking out the fabrics. Spinning on a heel towards the southern shore, he tapped his chin in thought. If his mind served correctly, the journey to the port should take no longer than a couple days at most. 

The sun had just risen from the horizon and Florice had the entire day ahead of him. Better start walking. Hopefully he could reach some sort of settlement for the night. 

And so, the doctor set off from the hills trekking through the tall hillside grasses as he wandered away from the rolling hills and eventually stumbled onto the dusty main road. Once settled on the wide open trail he spun around, orienting himself southwards and began his trek following the road towards the shore. 

\------------

Florice traversed the main road from when the sun hung low in the eastern sky until it barely hovered over the western horizon, casting the land in a rich orange glow. The roads lacked an abundance of travelers, the doctor had passed perhaps three others on his journey all within the entirety of the day. He’d been fretting over the thought of thieves prowling the outskirts of the path, especially one particular narrow chunk of the road which passed through a steep valley. Yet there’d been no sign of trouble. None at all, which came as an overwhelming relief to the doctor. He was absolute rubbish at dealing with troublemakers. 

He’d come across a small trading post earlier that day which had offered directions and a map for further travels down the road. Florice had jotted down a few directions in a blank page of his journal and continued on down the road until nightfall where he entered a small village and paid a night’s stay at the local inn. 

The following morning the doctor quickly set off out of town jumping back on the roads without much trouble. He trudged on for the entirety of the morning till the sun hung midway across the sky, peaking through thick cloud cover. It was then the doctor approached the moors. Here the temperature dropped a considerable few degrees as a steady wind picked up, sweeping across the highland. 

According to the map Florice had studied prior, the moorland unfolded before him for several miles. These moors were the final stretch left to traverse since beyond the uplands lay a short stretch of forest which led into port. 

The doctor proceeded to trek his way across the moor, faithfully following the main trail which appeared well-travelled. He duly noted the fresh footprints dotting the dusty path as he shrugged his hood tighter over his unkempt hair against the bone-chilling wind. He wandered along the road, eventually growing numb to the stinging breeze as he continued his journey across the land. 

A few hours later with the sun a little lower across the sky, the doctor estimated himself to be more than halfway to port. The prior biting winds had calmed and the clouds formerly obscuring the sun had dissipated. The weather was now uncomfortably warm. 

Florice glared upwards at the sky, the sun blazing down on the bare ridge as he continued to stride across the boring dusty road. 

“Another layer of clouds would be nice,” he grumbled at the flaming sun, sighing as he readjusted the strap of his bag which had grown uncomfortable digging into his shoulder. 

He averted his gaze back down to the plain brown road beneath the soles of his shoes, duly noting the dust coating the tips of his boots. Raising his head he observed nothing but the dull brown hues of the road and the muted greens of short brushy heather dotted across the moor. For a fleeting moment and with a touch of hindsight, Florice missed the flashy dramatics of Alagadda. The cityscape was certainly more fascinating than the landscape here on Earth. 

Florice lifted his boot to take another step when he promptly, froze a peculiar sight snaring his attention. He blinked, stealing a half step backwards as he squinted curiously at the oddity before him. A patchy pool of black viscous substance had been spilled across the path in a messy smear. Florice’s first immediate thought as a doctor was:  _ Blood. Someone’s been hurt.  _ But as he squatted down to peer at the dark substance a little closer, he realized the fluid was  _ black,  _ not the dark maroonish hues of blood. Pure inky black. 

On curious instinct, he reached out a cautious gloved hand, his fingertip hovering over the surface of the ooze. Struck with realization, he promptly came to his senses, withdrawing his fingers. Probably best not to go around touching odd unknown substances in the wilderness alone. Instead, Florice clambered to his feet, following the trail of black across the road where the smear seemed to trickle off into a roadside ditch. Approaching the shoulder of the road, Florice paused, curiously leaning over as he peered into the ditch. 

“Oh!” Florice breathed, exclamation cut short as he stared down into the stark white face resting at the bottom of the ditch, sitting happily in a pool of the black substance. In a haze of befuddlement and with a sense of peculiar familiarity, Florice stepped off the roadside, his boot squelching into the ditch mud. A slight daze of confusion clouded his mind as he stooped, gathering up the delicate porcelain features in his gloved hands. He straightened up, raising the strange pale mask to the light with a tilt of his head and a studying frown. Several droplets of black ooze dripped from the porcelain’s eyes and nose.

The mask was smooth with features reminiscent of a sort of...theatrical comedy mask. A wide gaping mouth twisted into a grin...upturned eyeholes….

A black rivulet of liquid dribbled from the corner of its mouth. 

Disgustingly fascinating, really, 

Florice’s brows furrowed as he studied the bizarre thing. It was elegant, in a strangely familiar way. Perhaps he’d seen this face before, as odd at that notion seemed. An peculiar pull tugged at the boundaries of his mind, urging his hands to move. His fingers twitched outside of his own accord.

_ I should put it on. It must be important.  _

_ But why? Besides, the strange substance coming from this mask is horribly messy. _

_ Well, messes can be cleaned. Perhaps it has some sort of...scientific usefulness.  _

Bemused by his own sudden influx of persuasive thoughts, the doctor gingerly flipped over the mask in his hands. He hesitated as he warily eyed a second dribble of liquid pool from the left eyehole. 

_ What’s the worst that can happen?  _

Florice blinked, a trance befalling his mind as he calmly raised his hands, lifting the mask’s twisted features up to lie over his own. 

The pain was instantaneous. 

The cold, sharp edge of porcelain barely brushed the edges of Florice’s pale skin when a brilliant searing flash split his mind, cracking like a lightning bolt. He let out a strangled yell, stumbling back and tripping over his own feet as his mind tore in two. An excruciating bolt knifed his thoughts as his old splitting headache returned, this time drawing stinging tears from his eyes squeezed shut. His own throbbing heartbeat rose to deafening levels, blood rushing to his head. Icy panic and raw fear flooded his veins. He thrashed, hands scrabbling blindly at his own face as he uselessly pried at the white porcelain. It held fast. 

The doctor let out a pained howl from a mouth not quite his own and he scrabbled at his ears, breath coming in excruciating bursts as he tried to surpress the blinding headache knifing his thoughts. 

He couldn’t  _ think _ , it was all  _ agony.  _

There were flashes, hot blinding flashes filled with troves of memories, spilling over into his mind. For once, Florice’s time in Alagadda was laid out crystal clear. Imagery of the rich golden-red halls, the streets filled with swarms of glittering fabrics. The Lords, the Ambassador, the citizens who visited him in the library. The library itself–twisting staircases leading to different planes of gravity, the endless bookshelves and inventories of  _ things,  _ peculiar things not found on Earth. 

A dark clad figure swam before his thoughts, the memories of his sole encounter with the Black Lord surfacing. He could remember the black swirling fabric, the ghost-like pale expression of their mask. The mask that appeared excruciatingly similar to the one now sealed to the doctor’s face with a mess of black goop. 

Suddenly, an agonizing whispering began, emerging from the depths of his mind and climbing to deafening heights, drowning out any coherent thoughts crossing Florice’s mind. A second consciousness wormed its way into the doctor’s head, filling the cracks and holes in his memories from Alagadda. More restored memories flipped across the doctor’s thoughts like the pages of a book–his study, his ventures out of the library–

The second sentience pressed up against his mind, the pressure building to torturing levels as the intensity of the whispering worsened. Through the incessant whispering came a string of thought, not emanating from the doctor’s own conscience. It moved in a fluid experimental manner, in the way one would flex their fingers to experimentally test the mobility of their hand. 

_ Finally! And here I worried I’d find no servants in this backwater world. HAH! Turns out–folks in this dimension are a lot easier to come by than I thought! Mindless, they're all weak and mindless–this world was  _ made  _ for me. They’re puppets here, all of them and I can string them up and bend them to do whatever the hell I want even without a body–HAH! _

Florice’s fingers curled around the edges of the mask once more with a vicelike grip as he strained to wrench the cursed thing from his mind. 

_ Oh...I’ll make them all sorry they ever tried to get rid of me...I am the King’s most loyal subject, I’m the Black Lord and the Black Lord is going to rise again, starting with this lovely little host I’m gonna be ruling– _

**_Get out get out get out get out–_ **

_ –this filthy dimension and returning to the Ambassador with a nasty surprise. This is just PERFECT! Oh how I’ve missed the chance to stretch my legs–well someone else’s legs again–  _

**_GET OUT OF MY HEAD._ **

With a strained cry Florice’s fingers hooked under the porcelain’s edges and he pried the mask in all it’s black oozing glory free from his flesh, the object falling from his fingers and dropping into the short heather grass with a dull thud. 

Florice’s chest heaved and he stumbled back with a pained yell, tripping over his own feet and crashing to the hard ground. He flinched, palms trembling in the grasses as sweat rolled down his cheek. His breath came in rapid bursts and his body trembled, flooded with a tide of adrenaline. Stunned, he remained in the dirt, mind racing as his gaze faded in and out of focus.

_ What, in the good Lord’s name...was  _ that.

Florice's arms shook with uncontrollable tremors. He blinked rapidly, sucking in a deep breath to calm his jackhammering heart. Alagadda...his mind...he remembered...he remembered  _ everything.  _ His memories were no longer hazy blurred dreams...they were crystal clear, details crisp and precise in his memory. He could recall everything, the details of his attire, the objects stored in the library, the intricately designed clothing of the citizens…

Digging through his thoughts he found his memory of the procedure regarding the cure he’d comprised had returned. 

The doctor fought back the urge to seize the journal from his bag and leaf through its contents to confirm the newfound clarity of his situation. He pressed a shaking palm to his clammy forehead as a flood of information overwhelmed his thoughts. He’d been so preoccupied with getting back on the road he hadn’t bothered to ponder the current year here on Earth. Yet with his newfound clarity of information came the knowledge that time flowed differently in Alagadda. 

Florice had left Earth in 1349 and had returned in 1349. Despite the passing of many years in Alagadda, only a few days had cycled here on Earth. He sighed, rubbing his cheek and drawing his hand away to stare at the black ooze coating his palm. He hadn’t the faintest about what just happened but at least he had his memories back. He should get moving and truly start his mission to help the sick. 

Wiping his palms on the moor grass, he sucked in a final breath before collecting his legs and unsteadily wobbling to his feet. He promptly dusted the grass off his robes with a few swipes and exhaled the shaky breath he’d been holding as he composed himself. Throwing his hood over his head and straightening his shoulders, he turned his steely gaze downwards to regard the porcelain mask now resting innocently near the tips of his boots in a pool of viscous liquid. 

What would he do with the Black Lord of Alagadda now helplessly laying at his feet in this dimension utterly foreign to them? 

And the mask was most definitely the Black Lord, Florice was certain of it, especially after his memories of encountering the Lord in Alagadda had returned. However, the mask had undergone clear change since the doctor had last witnessed them. Their mouth was contorted upwards into an unnerving grin rather than their former anguished expression of despair. 

Florice narrowed his eyes, glaring at the inanimate porcelain under his boots. He supposed he shouldn’t leave the mask in the ditch, they were clearly a powerful entity that could easily fall into the wrong hands–or rather, the wrong mask could fall into innocent hands. The Black Lord was powerful, there was no question about it. 

The doctor rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Perhaps...perhaps the mask could be useful or even come in handy somewhere down the road. It would be dangerous to carry them along but the pros outweighed the cons. Besides, if Florice’s theory of the mask’s usefulness proved wrong, he could simply hand off the damned thing to a shopkeeper for a few coins. Win win situation. 

Stooping, he gathered up the mask in his hands and lifted them to the light, giving the cursed object a stern suspicious glare before promptly slipping the grinning face into the doctor’s bag swinging at his side. Tying the bag shut, the doctor then whirled around, carefully traipsing up from the ditch and quickly returning to the main road. Oriented in the middle of the trail, he scuffed his boots in the dust in a poor attempt to stomp off the black sludge and mud splattered across his shoes. 

His attention was swiftly drawn up from his shoes and forward, towards the road curving away into the far horizon. With purposeful strides he resumed his trek across the windy moor road as if nothing had occurred. The only telling sign that Florice had even encountered any sort of trouble was the bag at his side, weighing oddly heavier than usual.


	3. Chapter 3

The doctor had been wandering the roads for several hours now, the chilly moor breeze biting into his bones. He paused at the peak of an ascending point in the road and shielded his eyes, gazing off into the distance. The moor stopped short in a neat line bordering the thin pine forest which lay between the port and highlands. 

Beyond, he could make out the seam of the horizon. Just below it lay a sprawling collection of buildings and docks stretching into the sea, the masts of ships cluttering the bay. 

He was close to port, estimating he’d reach his destination in a little over an hour if he were to continue traveling at his pace. Florice lowered his hand, sucked in a deep breath, and readjusted his hood. His legs had acquired a weary soreness from his journey across the land and had begun to really weigh him down. 

_I ought to keep moving._

Florice sighed, stepping off and resuming his path down the road. He was a little slower than usual as the aching in his legs began to act as a deadweight. Unfortunately, the doctor hadn’t encountered any other people on the road so the option of hitching a ride with a fellow traveler down to port was nil. He had no choice but to continue trudging on his own way down the road. 

He traipsed down the hill, approaching the edges of the pine forest. His steps subtly quickened as he was grateful for both the change of scenery and the chance to escape the cold wind along the ridge. 

The road shifted from dry dusty dirt to a thick coating of pine needles which softened his booted steps. The spindly green trees loomed over the path, casting the road into deep shadow. Kicking up a puff of needles with a short scuff of his shoes, Florice idly continued forwards, gaze settled on the path ahead, rather than the surrounding forest.

The pines were unsettlingly silent, no traces of wind rustling the rich green branches. The guttural caw of a crow squawked in the distance startling the doctor. His steps faltered and his attention jerked upwards just in time to catch a blur of movement in his own peripherals, a fleeting figure darting between the shadowed tree trunks. Florice whirled around just as a faint pattering of footfalls sounded on the soft needle floor and a cloaked figure collided with him from behind. He stumbled. A brilliant flash bounced off the glinting steel blade of a knife pressed against the layered robes of Florice’s upper back.

“Afternoon pal, got any spare change?” A voice hissed from behind. Florice stiffened as he felt the sharp tip of the knife dig further into his layered robes, roughly jabbing his skin. A prickle of uneasiness crept up the back of his neck. 

“I don’t mean any trouble,” he began uncertainly. 

Well this was an unfortunate turn of events. He was acutely aware of the situation at hand. Thieves weren’t scarce along these roads, the doctor should have expected a run in with at least one hostile traveler. He was a magnet for thieves and robbers since he was their ideal prime target: Always travelled alone and usually avoided crowded spaces. 

“That’s good. Very good. I don’t mean trouble either. Turn around and give me your bag, why don’t you? Slowly too, don’t wanna start any trouble eh?”

The knifepoint pressure lessened and Florice gingerly raised his hands in a gesture of peace before slowly spinning to face his assailant. The thief was a thin-faced man adorned in a raggedy cloak covered in patches and filth. Ah. Most likely a poor peasant who’d turned to crime and thievery as a way to provide for himself or perhaps whatever family he had. 

Florice would have greatly preferred to reason with the man or attempt to negotiate but at the moment, that very man had a sharpened knife tip jabbed tightly against his collarbone. He eyed the blade in distaste.

“Alright. I’m simply going to take off my bag now–” Florice slowly reached over, shrugging the strap off his shoulder, dropping his bag to the dirt. 

He had no qualms with letting the thief take a peak in his doctor’s bag. The thing had acquired some odd properties since being dragged through Alagadda and back. The interior was (supposedly, since Florice hadn’t found an end...yet) infinite and objects placed in it disappeared into the depths until Florice desired them again. 

So hypothetically, the thief should open the bag and find nothing but an empty interior. Florice was grateful for the bag’s new neat trick. It would certainly come in handy dealing with other hostile people down the road. 

The thief suspiciously eyed the bag now lying amongst the pine needles. He cast the doctor a wary once over before lowering his knife and promplty snatched the bag from the forest floor. 

That’s where Florice observed the oddities to begin. 

As the thief's spindly hand closed around the handles, he promptly stiffened, eyes glazing over into a sightless gaze. A cloud of confusion cast over his features and his eyebrows furrowed. His demeanor slowed and his movements were oddly methodical as he moved in a trancelike state, tucking his knife away into it’s sheath hanging from his belt. Next he straightened up, his eyes wildly unfocused as he regarded the bag in his grip with a clouded expression. 

Florice warily eyed the man, cautiously inching backwards as the thief opened the bag and stuck a sleeve into its depths. He wasn’t entirely sure what had befallen the thief but he wasn’t interested in learning either. 

As events unfolded, Florice was suddenly struck with a bolt of disbelief. He blinked in astonishment as the thief drew his arm out of the bag. In his thin fingers he clutched the mask of the Black Lord. 

Pure, unbridled panic crashed over the doctor’s head as his heart skipped a fearful beat. 

_How had he gotten the mask?_

Dozens of horrible outcomes pertaining to this situation flooded Florice's mind and his heart began to race, dumping a rush of cold adrenaline into his veins. He hastily stumbled forwards with an outstretched hand. The thief was blind the danger he’d brought upon both himself and the doctor. 

“Stop! Wait–no that’s not–”

The bag fell from the thief’s grip as his attention turned to the object in his hands. He lifted the mask to the light, letting the rays bounce off its shiny porcelain expression. He tilted his head to study the cursed thing with wide-eyed curiosity. 

“It’s...beautiful,” he murmured, a new light of wonder flickering behind his eyes. 

“It’s dangerous–” Florice insisted, lunging forwards and taking a swipe at the thief’s hand but he danced out of the doctor’s reach with ease, tightly clutching the mask. A smile spread across his expression as he gazed in wonder at the porcelain resting in his hands. 

“I think I’m going to try it on...yes...a mask like this one...it...deserves to be worn,” the thief murmured, glancing up at Florice with an unnervingly deadpan expression. Florice’s eyes widened, icy panic clutched at his heart. If the Black Lord obtained another host, terrible things would certainly ensue.

“No!” 

Florice lunged forwards with a final desperate attempt to knock the cursed object from the thief’s grip but the thief was much too fleet footed, once more dodging the doctor’s clumsy assail. He only had eyes for the mask and barely bothered to acknowledge Florice’s desperate existence. 

The doctor whipped around just in time to catch sight of the thief nestling the porcelain over his features. 

“NO!” Florice tripped over his own feet, stumbling as he made one last swipe at the mask but to no avail. The deed was done. He scrambled back, eyes stretched wide in horror as the gruesome spectacle unfolded before his very eyes. 

The thief now masked with the Black Lord, let out an anguished cry, thrashing about while his hands scrabbled uselessly at the stark white features plastered over his own. 

“Burns! Its b–” his sob of pain was cut short as he dissolved into a series of convulsions. Florice watched helplessly in utter horror as rivulets of black ooze dribbled from the mask’s squinting eyes and gaping grin. The thief desperately clawed at his own throat as a steady stream of viscous liquid flowed over his fingers, splattering to the ground. He crumpled over, holding his stomach, hands clawing his sides until...

All fell still. For a fleeting second, there was peace. Utter silence. The only noise was the slight whistle of Florice’s own shaky exhale. 

The effect was like a rock crashing through a window pane. The silence was promptly shattered as the thief straightened up with a raucous laugh, arms falling limp at his sides. Florice watched with a twinge of horror as the thief’s poise shifted, an entirely new persona stealing the spotlight. 

The Black Lord straightened up, experimentally swinging his arms and kicking out his legs. His voice held an odd buzzing note as he spoke, black ooze dribbling from his lips. 

“Woah, now this–this is a _host_ ,” the mask hadn’t noticed the doctor yet, instead focusing entirely on his newfound body. He spun in a circle, flexing his fingers, experimenting with the dexterity of his new joints. 

The doctor could do nothing but stare with a mixture of wild fascination and pure terror at the masked abomination before him. 

With a low chuckle, the mask whirled back around, facing the doctor. His black gaze jerked upright, registering the horrified man standing stiffly nearby. 

“You.”

The low buzzing voice was promptly directed at the doctor who blanched, mind wiped utterly blank under the Black Lord’s heavy gaze. 

“...Me...”

The mask suddenly gasped, shaking a delicate finger at the doctor. 

“Oh I know you darling! You’re that little birdie who flew into Alagadda!” 

Florice blinked, his mind not entirely able to compute the mask’s words. 

“I...I–”

“–am a liar,” the mask furiously interjected, his demeanor shifting almost instantaneously. He now bristled with hostility, his hands stuck on his hips as he bathed the doctor in a scrutinizing glare. 

“I remember you! You lied to _me_ ! _The_ Black Lord!” 

“I’m not certain I understand…”

“The key!” The mask threw up a dramatic gesture, voice riddled with exasperation. “You said you didn’t have it when I popped in to have a friendly chat with you in the library! Yet my servants found otherwise, care to explain that, darlin’?”

Florice blinked, nervously edging away as the mask stole a threatening step forward. Judging the situation at hand, the doctor concluded sticking by the truth would be in his best interest. 

“Yes. I lied. That key was my only way out of Alagadda, I wasn’t about to give it away–”

“ _I_ am the Black Lord, _you_ are under _my_ control as a citizen of Alagadda, even as a brief visitor. You don’t _lie_ to me,” the mask furiously declared. 

“I don’t why the lie still matters. You got your way in the end anyways, by _stealing_ the key,” Florice retorted, folding his arms in front of his chest. 

“ _Stealing?_ ” The mask gasped, dramatically affronted. “I didn’t steal anything, I can’t believe you’d accuse little old me of something like that. I _borrowed_ it–”

“So which of us is the liar now?” Florice interjected bravely, a sudden rush of clarity returning his train of thought. Perhaps those words hadn’t been the wisest.

The mask froze, fixating on the doctor as rivulets of black streamed down his porcelain features. In the blink of an eye the mask’s gaping grin contorted into the old anguished expression the doctor could recognize from Alagadda. However, this version was riddled with fury. Florice’s heart leapt up his throat as the mask let out a burst of warbling laughter.

“ _A liar!_ Me? No no, of course not darling, you’ve got it all wrong,” the mask stepped across the soft forest floor, swaying over the doctor in an intimidating stance. Florice staggered back as the mask raised his hands and gestured at himself. 

“I’m many wonderful things, an entertainer, a Lord...but tell me darling, what am I not?” The mask leaned forwards, head tilted in quizzical expectancy. 

“You’re a–”

“ _No!_ ” The mask roared furiously. Florice flinched at his sudden outburst. Satisfied, the mask chuckled, expression reverting to an easy grin as he withdrew and raised his hands in an exasperated gesture. 

“This is an easy answer. C’mon, darlin’ you didn’t have trouble saying it earlier! Patience isn’t one of my finest virtues but as the gracious Lord I am, I’ll give ya’ one last shot before I decide how I should snuff you out. To tell you the truth, that might take a little while to figure out,” the mask rubbed his porcelain chin in thought before continuing his monologue, seemingly forgetting the doctor’s existence. 

“‘Cause like, yeah suicide is my go-to and its romantic and all–but the Ambassador’s kinda ruined it for me...so now it’s a little–yeesh–” the mask trailed off, cringing. Suddenly, he remembered the doctor’s existence and his attention promptly snapped back to Florice. 

“So let’s try this again, darling,” the mask chirped up, giving Florice his full attention. He clapped his hands, offering an ear expectantly. 

“What am I not?”

Florice's mouth snapped shut. His heartbeat thudded loudly against his ribcage and he nervously drummed his thumb against the robes at his side. After a split second of consideration he supposed it would be safest to simply play along with the mask’s antics.

“A liar.”

“Good!” The mask skipped back, clasping his hands together once more. 

“You’re catching on quicker than I expected,” he laughed, grinning widely.“So you’ll be perfectly happy answering a few simple questions for me!”

Florice settled his steely gaze on the mask, forcing down both his jittery nerves and instincts urging him run. 

“I suppose.”

“Excellent! Now, who are _you_ exactly, darling? You were an outsider to Alagadda and it's clear this is the...well...not to insult the place but this is the...rubbish hell hole of a world you come from,” the mask winced, glancing up at the trees and scratching his cheek with his fingertip. 

“I’m a doctor,” Florice’s voice came much quieter than anticipated. He cleared his throat. “There's a plague here across the land, I’m trying to help save people from the sickness.”

“Ooh! How noble! And painfully boring. Spin me a dramatic backstory with a little less cliche why don’t you?” The mask complained, waving a condescending hand. Florice frowned, his distaste for the mask continuing to build. He opened his mouth to retort when the mask beat him to it with another question. 

“Nevermind, hearing stories from other people tends to be boring. Better leave the storytelling to me,” the mask picked at his fingernails before turning his gaze back onto the doctor. 

“So, _doc,_ if you were so busy trying to save the people here, why did you flee to my city, eh?”

“I didn’t _flee,_ I was looking for a cure to the sickness. I assumed Alagadda would possess such a thing since rumors said the citizens were immortals,” Florice explained evenly.

“Well did you find what you were looking for?”

“I–”

“—Well obviously you found what you were looking for since you left Alagadda.”

Florice glared at the mask who in turn shrugged, head falling to the side as he tapped his fingers together. He opened his mouth coldly.

“Yes, that’s what I would have told you if you’d let–”

“–Don’t waste your breath. I still have questions you need to answer.”

Florice glued his mouth shut, jaw tightening as he studied the mask with a narrow glare. The mask paid no mind to his dark expression and snapped his fingers, beginning pace across the forest floor. He whirled around, stalking in the opposite direction back and forth before the doctor. Florice idly eyed his movements. The mask spun around to a halt, finger raised and directed at the doctor. 

“You. You were gonna be my body in this dimension! Now I’m stuck with this guy, whose rather...flimsy. Ugh, I can already feel him falling apart–” the mask broke off, shaking out his arms. Droplets of black splattered against the pine needles riddling the path. Florice warily edged away as a drop splashed onto his boot. 

“It’s rather annoying actually being stuck to this guy. And y’know who’s to blame? You,” the mask stole a threatening step in Florice’s direction, waggling his finger in accusation. Florice blinked, thoroughly taken back.

“Me…?”

“Yes you, darling, who else would I be talking to?” The mask raised his arms in exasperation.

“I don’t see how I’m to blame for anything. You wouldn’t be...stuck...or whatever it is you did to that man if you hadn’t come to this dimension, or stolen my key,” Florice glowered, flexing his fingers. 

“Actually, I wouldn’t be stuck to this crumbling host if you had just left me on when you found me!” The mask exclaimed furiously, crossing the few steps closer to Florice and swindling right up in his face with an accusatory finger pushed into his chest. Florice’s gaze flickered from the finger jabbed into his robes back up at the mask, whose shoulders bristled with fury. The doctor’s other hand instinctively curled into a fist. 

“Tell me doc, why _did_ you take me off?” The mask’s voice dropped dangerously low. Florice narrowed his eyes.

“What's it to you?”

“Oh I’m just curious,” the mask straightened up with a nonchalant tone and a casual shrug. Florice narrowed his eyes in suspicion as he observed the mask’s subtle changes in voice and demeanor. His mind gears churned as pieced together different notes of information. 

The mask clearly had some possessive ability over people–or bodies rather, judging by the mask now animated before him. Florice seemed to recall an odd tug pulling at the boundaries of his mind during his first encounter with the mask in the ditch. With this evidence, he concluded the Black Lord was a mind-altering entity with an ability to manipulate the minds of others around him. This wasn’t entirely a surprise. The mask was unable to move without a body outside of Alagadda. How else would he convince people to give up their bodies and serve as hosts without a little trickery and mind manipulation?

With these thoughts in mind, Florice drew a slight possible conclusion as to why the mask was so perturbed at his action of taking him off.

Most people weren’t able to resist the mask’s persuasive effects that tempted his unsuspecting victims to pick him up. Victims were much less in any state of mind to pull the mask off once it'd been attached. 

_So, I’m not most people, am I?_

“I took you off because you caused a serious headache,” the doctor answered drily, his yellow gaze settling evenly on the mask. The mask paused for a moment, considering his words with a blank stare. The doctor was telling the truth after all. Then he began to snicker, a bubbling mess of black oozing from his gaping grin as he doubled over, clutching at his sides.

“Funny! We’ve got–a real comedian here–folks!” The mask exclaimed between breaths in a fit of mirth. He chuckled, using a finger to flick away a black rivulet rolling down his cheek. Florice blinked, giving a subtle start of surprise as the mask suddenly snapped out of his shaking fit and straightened up, placing a hand on his hip before continuing. 

“Well–”

“–People usually can’t resist you, can they?” Florice interjected, crossing his arms and shifted onto one foot.

“Hey–hey–rule one, darling, _don’t_ interrupt me,” the mask’s gaping grin contorted sourly as he jabbed a finger into the doctor’s chest.

“Got it?”

His expression fell sideways and the pressure of his fingertip digging into Florice’s chest lifted, drifting upwards and brushing his shoulder as the mask lightly stepped behind the doctor, vanishing from his peripherals. Florice remained rigid, deadpaning at the trees before him even as the mask’s fingertips drummed against his shoulder. 

“Yes, I understand,” Florice grit his teeth, struggling to contain his frustration as he continued. “Yet you haven’t given me an answer, you’re dodging my question.” 

A laugh rose from behind the doctor and the fingers digging into Florice’s shoulder lifted away as the mask spun into view, standing before the doctor once more to address him. Florice met his gaze evenly as the mask spoke. 

“Dodging? No, I’ve simply deemed your question unimportant. Why waste time on clearly insignificant matters…y’know?” the mask trilled lightly, gesturing with a dainty flip of his hand. The mask hadn’t answered his question directly but the doctor had all the answers required to put two and two together. Florice wasn’t fooled by the mask’s cool facade. He rubbed his stubbled chin.

“So...I’m immune to your more...persuasive nature…” Florice’s hand fell to his side and his piercing gaze returned upwards to regard the mask. 

“Fascinating. You have no power over me.”

At his proclamation, the mask chuckled, lightly tapping his fingertips together as he regarded Florice with a rather smarmy expression. 

“Oh dear doctor, you may have rejected me once but that doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things,” the mask spread his hands. “You’re still going to serve me, although obviously not as a host...yet.”

“I will not. You can’t persuade me and you have no threat to hold over my head,” the doctor replied passively, raising an eyebrow. He was both curious and wary as to where this conversation would lead. The mask spread his hands in a mannerism that resembled pleading.

“Of course I don’t! I would never threaten someone, it’s more a matter of... friendly suggestion,” the mask flicked his wrist with an open-palmed gesture. 

“For example, I suggest you accompany me since I’ve let you live. Trust me doc–” the mask’s smarmy grin seemed to widen. 

“–if you’d been a stubborn silent type earlier in this conversation, you would have bored poor old me to death–well, you would have technically bored yourself to death since I’d be the one killing you because you weren’t entertaining but...eh details.”

Florice didn’t quite have the capacity to believe him. He was fairly certain the mask was bluffing. After all, the mask wasn't in Alagadda any longer. His power must be suppressed to a great degree. 

“You’re lying...I don’t think you have the power,” Florice spoke up, challenging the mask opposite him. The mask stiffened at his accusation before his shoulders sagged. He heaved a dramatic sigh and wiped a blackened hand across his porcelain forehead. 

“Doc, you’re proving my point right here! I’m only still talking to you because you’re entertaining–especially with this funny little confidence thing going on! Trust me darling–”

Florice warily eyed the mask as he staggered forwards, scattering several droplets of black ooze. He sidled up to Florice and draped an arm over his shoulders. The doctor shuddered, inching away as the mask’s fingers painfully dug into his shoulder but couldn’t quite shake his vice-like grip. Fear prickled at the base of his neck and he glanced over at the mask’s deadpan glare, boring into his soul. 

“–If I wanted, I’d just take your lifeless corpse as a host, rather than try getting at the live body with you still in it–” Florice fixed his steady gaze on the trees in an attempt to ignore the mask’s unruly presence beside him. He winced as the mask’s fingers squeezed agonizingly tight.

“–’cause that would just be all work and no play,” the mask whined, expression contorting into anguish. 

Caught on unawares, Florice nearly leapt out of his skin as he snuck a fleeting glance at the mask whose bleak, empty eyes had ignited with piercing pinpoints, basking the mask’s porcelain features in a purple hue. 

Florice could practically feel the power emanating from the entity washing over his robes. He blinked, subtly inching further away. He’d rather be anywhere else in the world than beside this mask at the moment. The mask hadn’t been bluffing about his power. It was great comfort to know Florice had been in mortal danger this entire conversation. 

Cold adrenaline rushed through the doctor’s veins. His heart thudded loudly against his ribcage and he jerked his gaze away from the mask, instead focusing intently on the tips of his boots. 

The mask let out a hearty laugh, releasing his grip on the doctor's shoulder. He danced away from Florice's side and whirled around with a pleasant grin, all former traces of power sapped away as the mask’s eyes returned to their empty state. Black dribbled from his lips as his demeanor shifted and he cheerfully tapped his foot against the forest floor. 

“Oh dear, you look like you’ve seen a ghost!” The mask remarked gleefully. Florice quickly composed himself, his mixed expression of both terror and mild intrigue melting away into a cold facade. However, he couldn’t quite bring himself to meet the mask’s gaze again, instead eyeing the ragged cloak hanging off his host’s body. Florice was still unsettled by the mask’s startling display of power. 

“Ah, there’s that doc I know! Now, I want you to stick around because you’re entertaining _and_ interesting! You’re a mysterious moody character, hiding a multitude of secrets,” the mask offered. 

“It's a cliche for sure, but all is fair on the stage. I think I’ll be sticking around with you for a while, you could be…” the mask paused, tapping his chin. 

“Aha! Yes, you can be my guide to this world!” He proclaimed, snapping his fingers. 

Florice blinked, crossing his arms bluntly. 

“I’m not so certain about that.”

The mask clapped his hands together, delighted. 

“Oh yes! You’re going to be my guide for this backwater dimension. I don’t know the land like you do.”

“I have no desire for a traveling partner,” Florice rejected flatly. The mask bristled, sticking his hands on his hips, clearly affronted. 

“Why not? It's a perfectly fine arrangement!” 

“I don’t even know your name. Quite honestly, I don’t think you know mine either,” Florice pointed out fairly. The mask sighed, throwing up a hand. 

“My name’s not one you’d be able to comprehend, so why don’t you tell me yours instead?”

Florice thought for a moment, considering his course of action. Would having a powerful entity such as the Black Lord of Alagadda knowing his name come with any drastic consequences? Probably not. _Probably_ not _…_

“My name is Florice,” Florice offered coolly. The mask brightened. 

“Lovely, I’ll keep that in mind. Now Florice, like I said, I want you to be my escort. Think about it, just a little. An escort to the Black Lord. Doesn’t that seem...rather special?”

_Yes...it does. It would be an honor to accept the Lord’s offer._

For a split second, Florice’s mind went blank with panic.

_Those were most certainly not my own thoughts._

Florice gave a twinge of surprise. The mask’s persuasive abilities were certainly powerful. Nevertheless, they meant nothing to him as he brushed away the pesky intrusive thoughts without second thought. 

“No, it's not a particularly enticing arrangement to be honest with you,” the doctor replied shortly. The mask scratched his cheek. 

“Well, that’s not the answer I expected but I guess we’ll work on it. Are you really sure?”

“Yes, I’m quite certain,” Florice muttered darkly, feeling the conversation come to a close. His eyes roamed away from the mask to the dirt road where he spied his doctor’s bag sitting among the pine needles a few feet away. He paid no mind to the mask’s presence and briskly crossed the woodland path. Plucking up his bag from the ground, he slung the strap over his shoulder. 

As he spun around, he addressed the mask who was still tapping his foot against the forest floor, observing Florice’s actions intently. 

“I think it’s best we go separate ways. I am going to continue my life's work and you can...go find entertainment elsewhere,” Florice stated simply, regarding the mask with a neutral expression. He paused, a final question surfacing in his thoughts. 

“But before I go, I have something to ask. I’m curious. Why are you here, anyways? Have you come to destroy this dimension or something?”

The mask waved a hand. 

“Of course not! Why would I even dream about hurting this place, the people here are wonderful! Their minds are just...so malleable and they’re an endless source of delight. From what I’ve seen so far, this place is perfect for someone like me. But I haven’t seen much yet and I’m curious about the rest of this land. That’s where you come into play,” the mask explained. “I’m coming with you since you’re clearly a traveler and know this place much better than me. I wanna see what the rest of this place has to offer.”

Florice paused for a moment, processing as the mask’s words sunk in. His brows furrowed into a slight frown. 

“No, you’re not coming with me. I can’t trust you.”

“Excuse you! You’re the one whose been designated the liar, we’ve been over this!” The mask exclaimed incredulously, waving an accusing finger at the doctor. Florice muttered a sigh of incoherent curses, pinching the bridge of his nose as he consulted his thoughts. 

On one hand, there was no real way to prevent the mask from tagging along...

On the other...well...there wasn’t really another choice was there? 

As Florice weighed his limited options, he concluded he’d have to suffer the mask’s company for at least a little while before he was able to devise an alternate plan. Besides, perhaps the mask could even prove useful. The procedure Florice had composed was Alagaddan and if anything were to go wrong, the mask may be able to provide insight on the source since he was a purely Alagaddan entity after all. 

Without a prompting word, Florice stepped off and abruptly brushed past the mask. He resumed his stride back on the right track in the direction of port. The soft forest floor was silent under his booted steps. His hand hung loosely off the strap of his bag over his shoulder. He’d barely made it a few steps down the road before...

“Hey! Wait for me,” the mask protested indignantly from behind the doctor. Florice neither turned nor slowed his stride, instead raising one gloved hand in offhanded acknowledgment. Straining, he could hear the mask’s second set of footsteps dogging behind his own. 

_Perhaps this arrangement won’t be as terrible as I fear,_ Florice thought duly as he stepped over a large fallen branch obstructing the path. As the obstacle fell behind and he continued on, there was a pattering of footsteps as the mask quickened his pace to closely match Florice’s footsteps. He stepped up to stride beside the doctor, hands folded behind his head. 

“Y’know, ‘the Black Lord and his peasant doctor escort’ has sort of a funny ring to it. Looking forward to our new partnership, darling,” the mask hummed cheerfully. 

“Mhmm,” Florice muttered, too distracted by his own thoughts to bother registering the mask’s chatter. There was still one final question–the real final question, nagging at the back of his skull. Quite frankly he was overwhelmed by curiosity.

“Can I ask you something?” Florice asked bluntly, breaking the silence. 

“Ask away! I’m all ears.”

“Why did you leave Alagadda in such a rush? Were _you_ fleeing?”

The mask chuckled heartily. 

“I wouldn’t call it _fleeing,_ it was more of a great escape. Turns out the Ambassador and the Court have no sense of democracy and didn’t like my stance on fancy political matters,” The mask stretched his hands before him, studying his blackened nails. 

“So the Ambassador tried to silence me for my opinions. Imagine that!” The mask shook his head, uttering a disappointed sigh as black sludge rolled down his cheeks. 

“Politics, am I right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello


	4. Chapter 4

Through the final brief trek through the pines nearing port, Florice learned a few key things about the mask.

One. He never ran out of breath to talk, being a mask of course. The mask had begun to spin his story about his grand escape from Alagadda as the two strode through the forest. Not a few seconds in, Florice quickly picked up the sense that this tale was extremely long and grossly exaggerated, presumably for entertainment’s sake. The doctor promptly tuned out the mask’s tone for the rest of their trek. However, he was able to discern a few believable facts intertwined in the story.

From what loose truths Florice could piece together, the mask had been in heated political discourse with the Ambassador and his siblings for a considerable period of time. Eventually, it escalated to extremes. For example, the mask threatened to act on his wishes to restore the Hanged King to power without approval nor democratic agreement from the full Court. So, in order to stop him, the Ambassador had resorted to simpler old fashioned measures of silencing him. They attempted to kill the mask via Midnight Parade but the mask escaped, just before he was destroyed. 

Yes...that was a plausible backstory.

Two. The next important fact Florice discovered was the deterioration of the mask’s hosts. The  _ gruesome  _ fashion of the host’s deterioration actually, as Florice had the pleasure to observe. According to the mask, the man he wore was incredibly flimsy, ‘low quality material’. He would only last a few more hours, just enough time to reach port and board a ship. As he’d spoken, his right arm severed at the elbow, dropping to the forest floor in a mess of black sludge and organic flesh, causing Florice to do a spectacular double take. He was quite disgusted at the whole deterioration notion, actually.

However, as time crawled by the two stepped out of the forest and strode right into port. Florice half hoped he’d lose the mask in the crowd of bustling people hastily rushing about. Alas, the mask had acquired an annoying talent of stepping on his heels. Quickly, Florice was able to locate the correct ship and the two navigated their way through the crowded docks without much issue.

The captain stood at the foot of the plank. The doctor approached, handing him a few coins for passage. Sweeping past, he stepped up the plank to the passenger ship, the mask following closely in his wake. The ship was due to depart within minutes. 

A few other people milled about on the top deck. Florice glanced around, unsteady on his feet as the ship rocked with the gentle dock waves. He then hastily wandered about and discovered the opening leading below decks. He ducked down the stairwell into the ship's interior which consisted of unfinished planks and a few wayward chairs. Quietly he found a rickety chair to settle onto and tugged his hood lower over his eyes. 

At the mask's inquiry, he offered a quiet fleeting mutter of, “seasickness” for explanation. As the ship departed from port and began headway, Florice sighed, tucking his knees to his chest. He slumped against the squeaking wooden backing of the rickety chair. 

The mask promptly brought over a second chair and planted himself beside the doctor, his host crumbling before Florice’s very eyes. Corrosive sludge splattered across the wooden floorboards as the mask drew up conversation. The doctor idly listened to the mask’s chatter and duly answered a few of his questions, attempting to focus on anything other than the rocking of the ship. 

He got about thirty minutes underway without trouble before his stomach lurched violently and he smothered his mouth with a shaky hand, struggling to breathe in and out. 

The mask watched the spectacle with mild amusement. Florice shot him an irate glare. He cheerfully raised his remaining deteriorating hand, a twisted combination of muscle and bone peeking through the black mess. 

“I have an idea! How about, you wear me. I can...take over for a bit and...you don’t have to deal with the seasickness, eh?”

Florice narrowed his eyes. 

“I don’t trust you. This is just an opportunity for you to try and make me a host, isn’t it?”

“Of course not! I’m just being nice because I’m a nice person. Besides, even if I tried to make you a host, I couldn’t. You’re resistant to my effects, we’ve been over this.”

The doctor opened his mouth to retort but a wave of queasiness overtook him and he promptly snapped his jaw shut, forcing his stomach contents to remain put. He clutched at his stomach and furrowed his brows as he weighed his choices. His options were limited to a rock and a hard place. 

Either struggle through the violent sea-sickness or get a splitting headache in the shape of a certain porcelain mask. 

As the ship dipped violently, Florice came to the conclusion he’d take his chances with the headache. He groaned. 

“Fine. Just this once. And if you try anything funny, I will be leaving you at the mainland port and hope our paths never cross again.”

"Ooh, dramatic.”

Not a few moments later Florice held the mask in his palms. He braced himself and sucked in a breath before swiftly aligning the mask over his features. His fingers cautiously hovered near its sharp edges digging into his face. 

He expected pain, yet no pain surfaced. There was no splitting headache or whispers threatening to tear his mind apart. Instead, he found bliss as the mask’s consciousness drily settled beside his own. He lowered his hands into his lap, as he exhaled the deep breath he’d been holding. He found his mind no longer quite at the front of his consciousness. After a passing moment, his seasickness quelled to nothing more but mere uncomfortable sensation. 

Florice felt an odd tug nudging at his hands, almost like a string urging the tips of his fingers to move. His hand twitched.

“Are you doing that?” He asked from beneath the mask. The mask’s warbled tone came from inside the doctor's own mind. 

_ Yeah. I want to see how much I can do–apparently not that much. You’re a very strange host, doc.  _

Florice supposed this was a relief. It appeared the mask could do no harm when worn by the doctor. Everything was fine...for now. Florice sighed, sinking lower in his chair and bumping his head against the wooden chair backing. He closed his eyes as the mask began to speak once more, voice emanating from the edges of his thoughts. 

_ So...we’ve got some time to kill. Care to tell me more about yourself? Why’re you trying to save everyone here from this sickness, anyways? _

“I suppose.”

Florice considered the mask’s words for a moment and thought back in his memory. A moment passed before he found the right place to begin speaking. 

“Well...up until a year or two ago, I had a brother…”

–––––

The rest of the journey across the channel ran relatively smoothly with the doctor no longer sick and the mask stripped of his potential to cause trouble. At one point, Florice, still adorned with the mask, ventured up the stairs and stepped up to the open deck where most of the other passengers resided. He hung off the railing and quietly observed the rolling waves. 

Finally, after what felt like hours, the ship reached the mainland port and the two disembarked, the doctor still wearing the mask. Florice was extremely grateful to feel solid ground beneath his boots once more. The mask had been quite chattery inside the doctor’s skull the entirety of the journey, even as they stepped down the plank. Chattery that is, until the doctor mentioned he was going to remove the mask to which the entity fell into an unsettling silence. 

Slightly perturbed, Florice slid the mask from his features without issue, a sparse blackened residue staining his cheeks and a thin rivulet of black dripping from the corner of one eye which he swiped away. He held the entity in one gloved hand as he wandered about the busy port. People rushed past him as he made his way towards the South end. Eventually, a woman stumbled across his path, dressed in rags. She inquired about the mask he held in his possession. 

Knowingly, the doctor handed over the mask and she was quick to align it over her features, her posture abruptly shifting to mirror that of the Black Lord’s. 

“Needed a new host so soon?” Florice arched an eyebrow. The mask shrugged, spreading her hands with a wide grin. 

“Oh, you know it’d be boring without one.”

–––––

From there on, the two started off their grand journey beginning from the mainland port to across the entirety of Europe. Florice began his treatments of sick or occasionally wounded citizens and soldiers along the road. He briefly stopped into various towns across the continent and set up a temporary clinic to aid the sick before moving onto the next city over after a week or two. 

The procedure he’d composed in Alagadda proved successful as he possessed the ability to destroy life with the touch of his bare hand, yet resurrect the subject with a second touch after a series of surgical steps and serums. 

The mask faithfully followed in his wake across the continent, taking on various hosts at every turn. 

Months crawled by as the two were making their way across the continent from the far reaches of Portugal to crossing the Holy Roman Empire to the far reaches of Poland. 

At the very beginning of their journey together, Florice had cold feet in regards to the mask. They were a polar opposite to the doctor’s quiet, cold and diplomatic manner, instead quite vocal, often dramaticizing situations or opinions. A good couple months passed until Florice warmed up to the mask’s presence but eventually he found himself enjoying the company. He’d never had a travel companion before as he’d always preferred to remain solo. The company was a big change but also an unexpectedly welcome one. 

However, on days where the mask was unable to procure a new host, Florice often found himself missing the mask’s chattery presence. So here on these lonesome days, the doctor wore the mask more often than not.

He was different from other hosts. For some unknown reason, his mind and body suffered none of the mask’s usual damaging effects. No corrosive substance eating away at his flesh nor any loss of control over his own limbs. Florice heard the mask remark once about how the two had a peculiar bond, one that was mutualistic, something the mask had never encountered before. 

With this peculiar arrangement, the doctor abruptly found himself in a friendly relationship with the mask. The mask was quite the odd companion for Florice, considering the mask’s origins and their bolstering personality combined with their unusually twisted set of morals.

The two continued traveling together, the passing months quickly turning over into a year. Through the months, they found themselves learning more about the respective other–the mask’s stance in Alagadda–the doctor’s studies–and grew closer as they travelled together, suffering many misadventures and exciting ordeals along the way. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok listen up. I got nine fics in this series I want to write. I will be posting in the order 1,2, 4, 5, 6, 8, and then 3, 7, 9. There is no reason to this. This is just what order my mind wants to write them in. 
> 
> Prolly start posting the next fic in a week or so when I feel like it wooooo

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah so this fics just gonna be quick backstory first meeting etc etc  
> Its a little boring but i feel like its sort of a necessary prequel for the 6-7 other fics i wanna write


End file.
